


What does it take to forgive a man?

by thenomansland



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenomansland/pseuds/thenomansland
Summary: “We know who our enemies are. We know.”
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	What does it take to forgive a man?

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first time I wrote something in this language, so I apologise for all the mistakes, specially for the OoC in the dialogues. I wrote this without thinking about the timeline, actually. I haven’t played the game since it came out and I really don’t remember as much as I would like to, so if there’s something wrong, you can let me know.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for reading!

Michael never forgot the feeling on the letters of his own name. He did what he did and he changed what he changed, but it didn't mean he took no notice of what he had lost when he turned his back to his own last name. In fact, he was more used to forget the name that he had chose after what happened in North Yankton.

At the begging it wasn't hard. He knew he had to listen to whoever called him to pretend he was the new person he built. He couldn't get it wrong. He couldn't  not care. If he did, he and his family could be in danger. So he found a way. He memorised the sound and trained himself to act like Michael De Santa. Waiters, friends, people in the street. Every person pronounced those two words and as empty as they felt like, Michael smiled and paid attention. 

Amanda—Well, it was easier for her.

Michael realised that she loved to be a "De Santa". It meant a new life, with so many luxuries and so many privileges. With lovers. With days and days away from the family doing whatever she and her friends had to do that week. It meant to be the wife of a Michael that could really please her.

_ Townley  _ was the name of a poor bastard whose wife could have let him if he had failed. Or whose wife wouldn't have mourned him if he had really died.

Someone else did, though. Someone like Trevor, the man who introduced him to the bartender that night with a name that was the truth that haunted them both.

"Michael Townley," he said. "An old friend of mine".

"I thought he was dead."

"Yeah," Michael interrupted. "Trevor is just drunk. I'm Michael De Santa, actually. But still, I've known him for a long time."

"So you knew the other Michael? The one he's always talking about?"

"I heard of him," Trevor looked at Michael. He seemed displeased. "Never met the guy."

"I think you did," spoke Trevor.

"I would remember it if that was the case."

"Yeah, you're right. He was an asshole, how would you forget about that?"

"That's not what you've said to me."

"He has said it to me," the bartender joked, unaware of the situation. “Anyway, enjoy your drinks.”

Both glasses were put in front of them before the young man went away, leaving them alone. Michael took his glass, but didn't drink it. Trevor just took a sip.

"So, this Michael, was he really an asshole? That's all you remember him for?"

"He would still be a jerk if he was alive now."

"You don't know that."

"No, that's where you're wrong.  _ I'm the only one who knows that._ He was my brother. And I don't know about you, sugar tits, but you don't make your own brother believe that you're dead for almost a decade. Even so, you don't let him get this stupid tattoo," he pointed at it with a move of his chin. “And pretend that everything's alright when you come back out of nowhere.”

"It's a good tattoo."

"It's meaningless now. That's what it is.”

Both kept silent for a long couple of seconds. 

If there were words capable to make his mistakes aside so they could start over, Michael would have told them without hesitation. But there weren't. This wasn't like pulling a trigger. He couldn't choose to end this pain, because he had killed something inside the man in front of him long ago.

"But that's the only thing there is? ` _ He was an asshole´ _ ? Nothing else?"

"He was a good man," Michael heard. It was whisper and it surprisingly came from Trevor's mouth. He did like it when his  old friend was softer than rougher, as it was his habit. But that meant he was really pissed. Trevor was trying to keep the anger to himself not to cause a scene because he knew—both knew, that it would be something that would make them look weak. Just this time. "Before the heist, he was. He and I—man, he and I needed each other more than any other thing in the whole fucking world. I loved him. I missed him. And I thought he loved me back."

"What if he did?," Michael asked. 

He didn't understand why they kept talking about himself in the third person. Maybe it was easier, even if they both recognised that it was truly and deeply personal.

"Nah. He didn't." They took a sip at the same time. It felt heavier going down their throats. Trevor wasn't looking directly at Michael when he finally thought the flavor on his drink was bitter too. "The worst part, you know—the worst part is that I lived so many years thinking I had failed him. That it was my fault. I drank a lot thinking ‘ _I could have done better ,  _ _I could have saved him_ ’.  And for what?"

"Trevor-“

"Fuck you", he suddenly spat. "Just fuck you."

"I'm s-“

"No. Keep it. You ain't worth the trouble, Mikey. Not anymore."

Townley frowned. He wasn’t angry, not even disgusted. He felt no offence coming from Trevor’s words. He just felt like he had lost something—someone, for the second time in his life. But this time it hit him even harder. This time he could see the face of the man whose life he ruined.

This, nevertheless, wasn’t a funeral. Neither a goodbye. Michael wanted to apologise no matter what it costed, because he  _ loved _ Trevor. He loved him back in the old days, and he loved him now, in the middle of a seedy bar he never went until that very day.

"What does it take to forgive a man?,” Michael wanted to know.

Trevor stared at him with hatred in his eyes. His hands trembled upon the table and his lips were unclosed with a grin. Michael thought he probably felt dizzy after drinking the whole morning. 

"For him to be dead,” Trevor finally said. “To be fucking burried five feet under the ground, as he should be—as he made me think he was.”

“I could do that, if you want me to.”

“I know you could, sugar tits,” Trevor laughed. Both knew he didn’t mean to find it funny. “I don’t think I could hate you more than you hate yourself already, can I?”

Michael smiled the way he did when he was nothing but uncomfortable. He took a drink and rose, walking out of that place without thinking straight. Trevor, worried this time, followed him. 

It was hot outside, both noticed when they left the bar a few meters behind. It was almost midday and the sun was just above them, their shadows under their feet. Trevor had had an headache for almost three hours now and whatever Michael was planning to do wasn’t going to be helpful.

If he was trying to prove a point by killing himself right there and then, as Trevor guessed when his old friend slipped his hand inside the pocket of his stupid jacket, he wasn’t going to let him.  _ He was going to kill him first. _

“Fuck off, Michael,” he said. Then he spoke louder. “Hand me the fucking gun, you fucking asshole. You know this isn’t what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?,” Michael turned around, gun in his hand, charged and pressed against his temple. He kept walking backwards as he saw the distress growing in Trevor’s eyes. “Maybe I got it wrong.”

“Don’t mess with me.”

“What you gonna do about it?”

When Trevor stopped, only a few inches remained between them. He tried to take a step, but Michael pressed the gun even harder, his finger playing with the trigger.

“I won’t do anything about it. But what  _ you _ gonna do about  _ this_?,” he asked. “I told you I hate you because I do. You lied to me, Michael. You let me believe I lost you.You left me! And yet you’re the one who’s trying to kill himself. What are you? A fucking victim?,” Trevor chuckled. “I’m gonna show you what‘s to be a damn victim.”

Michael didn’t expect Trevor to hit him, but he suddenly did. He hit him as hard as he could, allowing himself to let go all the anger, all that shit he kept in his chest for so many years. In a second, they both were in the ground. The gun had fell somewhere in the warm sand and Michael didn’t have the chance to defend himself. He didn’t try it, and Trevor didn’t stop for a while. His fist left several bruises and from those blood started to emerge. He did stop until he thought Michael had had enough of it, trying to catch his breath as he leaned back.

“That’s how it feels like,” he whispered softly. 

His voice had cracked. Tears were rolling through his cheeks when Michael opened his eyes in an attempt to see what was happening above him. He could barely look at Trevor because of the light that blinded him. His friend was just a silhouette for his blurry sight. However, he knew by the sobs—the sobs that Trevor tried to hide so badly—that he was crying.

He had never seen him cry.

“Don’t,” Michael almost begged, touching with the tip of his fingers Trevor’s face.

There were traces of the time past. Scars, wrinkles, a scratchy beard. Townley had closed his eyes just so he could feel him with the rest of his senses. He caressed him shamelessly for the first time in his life. He recognised him for the second. The skin under his hands was a memory of better times. The lips that kissed his palm were the yearn both had kept to themselves since they met.

“I still love you, Trevor,” said he. “I know I fucked things up. I know I cannot give you the best of me right now, that I didn’t do it before either. But I love you. I need you to know that.”

“Yeah.”

“I meant it.”

Trevor let himself rest his forehead against Michael chest. He could heard the heartbeat, slow but steady. Then, he thought he knew. Michael meant it, but it would took more than that to actually believe it.

“Let’s go to my place.” Michael felt the warm breath through his clothes and he took Trevor into a soft and gentle embrace. “I’ll heal your damn wounds.”

“That means you forgive me?”

“Eventually, I will”.

Trevor smiled bitterly and kissed Michael’s chest as a silent promise.


End file.
